


Call Off Your Ghost

by feverishsea



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverishsea/pseuds/feverishsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before Aragorn's wedding, Eowyn cannot sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Off Your Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a Dessa song with the same title (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXB-5UhBM0M). It was originally written in an embarrassing sleep-deprived songfic mash at my tumblr (http://seatsreservedforheroes.tumblr.com/).

[ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXB-5UhBM0M)

She thought about going to see him, that last night before his joyous wedding to the elven lady. It would be a matter of padding silently across halls; the steward of Gondor does not sleep so far from its king, after all.

But she will see him tomorrow, and Eowyn is not sure that she can live knowing what the king of Gondor looks like in lovesick anticipation.

He is different now, she knows. Both of them are. Things between them should thus be different too. But when Eowyn looks at Aragorn now, in all his finery, all she can see is the desperate man she met at the gates of her land, stumbling through the door half-drowned; she is once again alive and alight in all the worst ways, meeting her match in desperation for the first time.

Faramir has given her silks and modest jewels, but she does not know how to wear them, and cannot find it in herself to care to learn. Perhaps it is only fancy, but sometimes she sees Aragorn tug at his fine embroidery or push at the crown that rests uneasily on his furrowed brow, and she wonders if it is the same with him.

She has not spoken to Aragorn since the first time he came to speak to Faramir and found her there, hair mussed. The flash of blank surprise on his face struck her more harshly than any words could have. She wanted to see pain, not curiosity.

Faramir is not a simple man. But he is a man desperate for a little peace and comfort; he does not pry.

Eowyn stares across the table, and Faramir does not pry.

Eowyn lingers in the garden, and Faramir does not pry.

Eowyn smiles kindly when he declares his affections, and accepts her fate, and Faramir does not pry.

Now it is the night before the wedding of their king, and Eowyn rests her back against the door to Faramir’s quarters.

It is silent in the halls; almost as silent as it is within her heart. But the silence in the halls is one of peace, and the one in her heart is one of ice.

"My lady."

Eowyn would stare at the floor; would pretend to be lost in thought. But her reflexes are still those of a warrior, not those of a gentle lady. And so she snaps up her head and gazes into the eyes of Aragorn, heir to so many things, the least of which is her unworthy heart.

She bows her head. “My lord.” She cannot bring herself to name him king; she does not know why.

The small mercy is that he does not seem to be thinking of the morrow, in any case. He smiles at her, eyes crinkling kindly at the edges, all the desperation of war gone. There is a different, quieter desperation there these days. Eowyn is not sure she envies him it. She is sure that his elven maid will not understand it.

(she does know why)

"Things are very different these days," Aragorn says. His smile turns wistful as he stares at her.

But Eowyn is not fooled; she knows that he does not see her. He sees what she feels when she is near him; the war-torn land and fleeting, frightful time when life was more deadly and more free.

"They are different indeed," she says, "and yet some things do not change, my lord."

She is a fool.

The smile fades from his face. She feels it looks more honest that way.

"I will not tell you that would would despise a life beside the throne, my lady," he tells her, and Eowyn nearly shakes at how close he is to things that have gone unspoken for such a long time. "For you are bold, and strong, and perhaps you know your desires better than me."

Perhaps they both know her desires. Perhaps that is the problem. Perhaps she has lived too long in “perhaps”.

Aragorn’s mouth twists to something bitter. She resists the urge to reach out to him. “But I will tell you that I envy the man in that chamber beyond you. And if I were that man, I might easily be content with its lady.”

She almost stops breathing; from shock or rage or hope or despair.

His smile is just sad now. Her fingers itch for a sword. “But I am not that man; I am a thing of the wild that has been chained to a crown and a throne. To live with it, I need something wild and fey beside me. Something that cannot conceive of desiring human royalty.”

It takes all there is within her to stop herself from lashing out at him. He  _might_ have been happy with her, who held together a dying kingdom for years, who rode at the front of the last stand of Men, who slew the Ringwraith.

"To be at peace with your fate, you desire a lady with no desires of her own?"

Aragorn’s eyes flash pain. He bows slightly, though she’s not sure to what. “I would that a crown straightened my shoulders, or made my sight more clear. But I fear that, as with my ancestors, it does not make me a better man. It never will.”

She is not sure if he is lying.

She is not sure if it matters.

Eowyn almost curtsies, but then bows instead. She would address him as a warrior, not a simple heartsick woman. If she cannot have his love, she will settle for his respect.

"I wish you joy of your union, your highness. I hope that… I hope that your elven maid brings you the peace you seek, though I cannot pretend that I do not believe you may have underestimated her heart."

Eowyn does not understand how any woman could want only to make a man happy.

She does not want to understand, though when she looks up at the King of Gondor again, she still desires him. He is still giving her that sad smile; she still thinks she could replace it with a lighter spirit. She will never have the chance.

"If you will excuse me…" She pulls the door gently open, nods, and slips inside. When she closes the door and leans against it on this side, she breathes easier. No matter how fiercely she loves and wants one man, she cannot give up every other piece of herself in exchange for that love. She would rather pine the rest of her life for love, and work toward those other desires that still burn in her heart. There is so much more to life than love, after all, and Eowyn thinks she has a chance at even that.

She walks over to the bed and looks down at the sleeping form of Faramir. As though he can sense her presence, he stirs and blinks up at her. He smiles hopefully.

"Will you come to bed?" he murmurs, not asking her where she has been. Eowyn smiles back.

"I will," she says. 


End file.
